Life
by Sideshow Cellophane 26
Summary: This is Cecil Terwilliger's life, from four months into it to the comic "Sideshow Sibling Smackdown." This is the backbone of most of my stories, so you may not understand some of them before reading this. This isn't exactly humor, and has several adult themes. Is this the first story to go through a character's life like this? If so, then I call Cecil's.
1. 4 months old

**The beginning, or about four months into life**

"He didn't cry; but only stared at his mother quizzically, and then smiled." –Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter.

The baby's legs were taped to the floor, making it impossible to crawl away. The boy picked up the apple and placed it on top of the infant's head.

"If you stay still, then this won't hurt a bit. Of course, this is my first try at using the bow and arrow. And since you won't hold still, I guess this is going to hurt you more than it will me." Bob raised the arrow and aimed it at his brother's head.

Just as he let go, Cecil flopped to the ground on his back. The arrow whizzed by where his head was two seconds ago, and the child sat back up.

"Too smart for your own good. And I would've hit you too."

Cecil sat back up and smiled.


	2. 4 years old

4 years old

"In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, the bitterest of agony, because it takes them unawares." -Abraham Lincoln

Cecil looked in horror at what laid before him. Some of the glass was in his arm. He didn't mean it. He didn't mean tripping over his clown shoes, falling into the window.

The blood was oozing down his arm now.

"They know my normal hiding places. The attic, maybe?" he scrambled up, scattering more pieces over the kitchen floor. Running up into the attic, Cecil looked for a hiding place. He couldn't feel his arm, meaning nothing to make noise about. Unfortunately, it was noticeable.

_Please don't look in the attic. Please let me be until I'm ready._

Soon, he heard a car pull up in the driveway. Bob was home. The child squeezed himself into the corner, imagining himself to be invisible.

There was cursing now. He had found the shattered window. A single tear was quickly wiped away. Cecil held his breath as Bob climbed the stairs, one by one.

"Cecil?" he yelled into the empty second floor, "Cecil? I know you did that to the window! There's no use hiding, because we both know you'll give up and come out!"

A pause directly beneath the attic door.

The shoot came down, and a grunt followed as Bob began to climb. The child didn't even dare to breathe. Cecil felt as though his heart had stopped, though that was impossible. But now the shock was over, and his arm was in agony.

"AHA!" Bob jumped him from behind, and held Cecil down. "I knew it! If you think that you can depend on the attic every time-" he finally noticed Cecil's arm, "you tripped over the clown shoes, didn't you?" Cecil began to whimper, from both pain and fear. _At least let me fix my arm before the beatings. _

Instead of what he expected, Bob helped him up. "Let us fix that before mother and father get home. And we have several older windows that mum got from the stage, so we can use that to replace. You can say that you fell and tripped, but not into the window."

After all of that was done, and Bob was doing homework, Cecil remained in his room. He turned on the TV on the other side of the room and began to watch Krusty, the man who inspired his dream.


	3. 9 years old

Age 9

"Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope. It is forsaken in these lands." –Lord of the Rings 2

Jared shoved Cecil to the ground, chuckling. The rest of the gang hovered behind him, grinning. Jared had boxed his ears, and they were still ringing, making the world spin. The gang was everywhere, encircling him, laughing, grinning, kicking pushing pull—

A girl shoved one of the gang members aside, and took Jared by the collar. She said something to him. His eyes widened and motioned for the gang to go back.

The word was spinning, out of control. The girl—one of his classmates; he couldn't recall the name for his life—was a massive blur.

_They did something to _

_(me) hello?_

_What is _

_(her name) hello? It's_

_(Cecil, right? Wait- Maris!) –wimpier than that Homer kid in sixth grade._

"_Look at me!" _A different girl held Cecil's head upright and still. The world suddenly cleared as he stared into the eyes of an angel.

She had long, flowing chocolate hair down to her elbows. Her eyes were the color of a starry night in Rome. There was a dark purple bruise on her left cheek. Cecil wondered where it came from before moving on. She was wearing a sky blue dress, black leggings. He could feel a queasy feeling coming from his chest, a feeling he had never felt for anyone before this girl.

Love.

She sighed in relief, and turned to another girl. "Thank god, he's OK." Her _voice_ even sounded like bells . . .

"Oh. So I threatened Jared's dad's job for nothing? Because my mom could easily-"

"No Marge." She said dryly.

Now in focus, Cecil recalled her name: Marge. Marge Bouvier.

"You alright? I saw them in a cluster and figured you'd need a hospital." Marge spoke again.

"Yes, I'm fine. Though I don't even know how to start to make it up to you two." He smiled.

"It's no problem. We're usually the people who have to stop them from beating on the other kids. What's your name? Haven't seen you around. Ever." She gave out a guilty "heh."

"My name is Cecil Terwilliger. My family and I moved in from London a few months ago. Yesterday was my first day."

"Ooh! London! I've always wanted to go!" Marge and the other said simultaneously. They all broke into laughter.

"You're pretty cool." Marge said approvingly, "I'm Marge, and this is Maris. Welcome to the States, though it wasn't a very good first impression. Allow us to show you the better points of our country."

"Sure. I'd be delighted." He spoke in a heavy British accent, making the girls laugh.

_Why exactly did I accept the offer . . . ? I suppose no other classmates will talk to me. Or maybe these two are the first kids who _voluntarily_ talked to me._

The bell rang, signaling the end of school. Everybody grabbed their back packs, racing to their parents' cars before the others. Marge's mother was there to pick her up; Cecil and Maris rode the bus together.


	4. 11 years old

Age 11

"Mother? Father?" he called out. "Robert?" the door slammed shut behind Cecil, and he walked into the living room.

There still weren't words to describe what he thought of the move to Springfield, especially in this crappy house. Of course, he wouldn't dare say it in that use of grammar, but it was what he felt. The house was old and ugly, in a bad condition, in a bad neighborhood, and even worse neighbors.

Robert had made friends immediately, fortunately for him. Unfortunately for Cecil, Mel and Snake weren't the best friends you could be alone in a room with. Much less an alley.

He shuddered as the memory flooded into his mind. If Bob and he weren't brothers, then Cecil probably wouldn't have survived with so little scars. Or had come out alive. Truth be told, Snake was the worst of them. He was the one who was most skilled with knives, and had taught Bob a few tricks with getting a kid to squeal.

Cecil sighed with relief when he saw that nobody was home. Bob had become scary over the past year, since they moved. A little too scary. Well, it was almost over. He was leaving for Yale in three months.

But when Cecil turned the corner into the kitchen, who should be waiting there but the three demons of hells' deepest pit.

"Well, well, well," said the leader of the group, "looks like my little brother caught us red handed."

"Whaddya me-" then he saw a glimpse. Knives were carefully placed in an open briefcase, and money was in another. What looked like _thousands_ of dollars were in that briefcase! Mel moved in front of it, blocking the view. "No! I didn't see anything! I swear it to the Bard!" he tried to run, but Snake grabbed him.

He bit, kicked, and gave all he was worth to get out of Snake's arms. But he had a death grip on Cecil, and wasn't gonna let go.

As he squirmed, Bob took one of the knives and held it up to examine. Cecil stopped fighting. He was out of breathe, and knew what was going to happen next.

"Just in case you do tell mother and father. Hold him down to the floor. I'll move the carpets so no one will see the mess."

"Mess?" by now, he was on the bare tile floor. Bob was standing over him with the knife.

"Wait. Bob?" Mel let go. "I thought we were just gonna threaten him. Not- not this." He stood up. "I mean, he's your brother."

"Well, obviously. But he saw-"

"Too much? He'll never tell, so long as he _knows_ what you'll do! Cecil won't tell, will you?" Cecil shook his head no vigorously. Whenever Bob didn't get up or move, he said, "listen man, I didn't sign up for this. I don't hurt brother to brother. See ya at school!"

Snake commented, "Wimp. Let's do this."

The knife was right over Cecil's bare arm now. He was used to pain from the beatings, but not this. Not ever. "This'll only hurt until your dying day." Bob said. The knife plunged into skin.


	5. 21

**I skipped ahead due to lack of inspiration for his teen years. Those years aren't too important, but he falls for Maris hard. Marge meets Homer, and Homer's jealous of Cecil (he has known Marge longer than him, **_**and**_** Cecil's smarter.**

**How the fallout occurred. I really don't know about this chapter. Let's just say Bob's waaaaay outta character. Tell me whatcha think?**

"There's no business like show business." –Broadway

Age 21

"Thanks for driving me, big brother. Though the clown mitts are extremely hilarious, they make it hard to shift gears."

Bob said something back, but Cecil couldn't make it out. He had just caught a glimpse of his oldest hero, the man (clown) who had mentally been there through the toughest of times.

Krusty yelled out, "#73, you're next! Make with the laugh-laugh." He didn't seem to be too enthusiastic to see yet another auditioner.

Cecil stepped up to the spotlight. He cleared his throat and said, "hey, children. Meet me, Sideshow Cecil."

Krusty looked unphased. "Eh . . . next!"

He stammered a bit. "Uh, I have prepared a pie in the face take."

Krusty groaned. "Alright, knock yourself out, kid. _Hal_!"

Once a helper was called out, a pie came flying into Cecil's face. ". . . Ooh," he tried to yelp and grin comically, though it didn't nearly come out as good as it did in the mirror. Nor did it help that Krusty was making him nervous.

"Free comedy tip, slick: the pie gag's only funny when the saps' got _dignity_. Like that guy," he motioned to Bob, who looked generally like he wanted to be anywhere else but here. "hey Hal, pie job for Lord Autumn Bottom there!" a pie flew out and hit Bob, throwing off his hat and revealing hair that had been combed down at the time, to burst out into the spiky style we know today.

He was stunned for a moment there, looked up, and muttered a meek, "oh dear. . ."

Everybody started laughing. From the expression clearly written out on his brother's face, Cecil thought Bob might pull out a knife and stab the clown right then and there.

Instead, his face lightened when they started the applause.

Krusty stopped laughing, and exclaimed, "That guy's a genius! He's gonna change the way we think about getting' hit by pies! Chumly, you're hired!"

Bob took a bow.

_Like _you_ deserve it. Why, not five minutes ago you were telling me how demeaning it would be to be a clown and yet here you are taking _my_ spotlight _my_ dreams oh God Bob you _STOLE_ my dreams in an explosion of cream and crust!_

He turned away, and dragged his feet outside to the car. There he sat in silence until Bob emerged from the scene, grinning.

"Aren't you happy for m-" he stopped when Cecil turned, showing his oh-so-hateful glare. "Oh, yes. Well, I'll talk to Krusty and put in a good name for you. Maybe you can be a—"

Cecil's hand lashed out, striking the cheekbone. "How dare you! How DARE you—"

He was interrupted by a blow to the left ear, making his head spin.

"You should be happy for me, brother," Bob said, "maybe it's just fate. Maybe it is sheer dumb luck. But everything happens for a reason, hmmm? Like our little incident ten years ago." He grabbed Cecil's arm, pulled off the glove, and pulled the sleeve up. "Ooh, scars."

_So that's how he's gonna play it_

"_My entire life! My entire __**life**__ you never ceased your attacks on my dreams! And now you are__** proud**__ to say you stole them? __**Proud**__?_" he took several deep breaths before going on, more calmly, "this job was going to support my family. I had planned on proposing to Maris tonight, in celebration. We were going to use my pay checks to pay for the wedding. Move back to London, because I miss it there, and she deserves to get away from her parents. They _still_ beat her, you know. They haven't helped her with money, so she can't even afford an apartment."

Silence.

"But now, thanks to you, I have no job. She has to endure her parents. And Marge may have to take her in."

"Oh, don't act like the buffoon you're dressed as. Sure, it is an amazing job. But I asked Krusty a few questions. It isn't that much money. I have to be shot out of cannon, beaten; _he_ mentioned setting my hair on fire. . ."

"Well, duh! It's all about being a clown! You need to keep the crowd laughing and wanting more! And why don't you just quit if you don't want to do it?"

"Because of you."

Cecil sat back in shock. "You…you're humiliating yourself in front of a million children everyday just despite me? Just so I won't live my life-long dream?" he said softly. "Why?"

Bob leaned forward, "Because I was caught," he said through clenched teeth.

"For what?"

"Oh, you remember. Just think of the scars, and it will come." He smiled luridly.

Cecil gasped. "Wouldn't you be in prison, then?"

"Yes, I suppose. But the police here are far easier to fool than the Chief in London. I simply denied it and blamed Mel. He was saved by Snake, Snake went to jail again, yada yada yada."

"What would Arthur think?" it was cruel; Bob loved Arthur, but that was what needed to be said.

Bob's eyes narrowed and he gave the most loathsome glare he had given in a long, long time. "Get out."

"Excuse me?"

"_Get out!" _he yelled.

"Gladly." Cecil opened the passengers' door and got out.

Before he could slam it shut again, Bob decided he would get the last word in, "A few last parting words: we _are no longer brothers_. Take your goddamn gloves and never speak to me again."

"Don't mention me on the first day." With that, he slammed the door before anything else could be added.

_At least we weren't that close before._

He went back to the apartment, and took the anger out on the punching bag in the closet.


	6. 22

Age 22

"Youth is a wonderful thing. You live your life, and meet the right person when you're ready. When you are absolutely certain you want to settle down, you have kids." -Me

It was wrong. But oh _god_ it felt right. She was unbuttoning his shirt now, letting it fall to the ground. Her dress was already four steps back; they were making their way to the bed.

So close to the bed now . . . did he really want to? This young? Well . . . his life had left road bumps, aging him. Yeah, let's go with that. It was too late to turn back now, anyway. Besides: they were married. Cecil had that job at the dam. Maris was working with Homer at the plant.

Why not a kid? Or—it may not even happen.

On the bed now.

Too late to try to cover it.

Moaning. Both were moaning.

_You work yourself too hard, kid. Let loose._

He entered.

* * *

_Damn it. You just _had_ to put all worries behind, didn't you Cecil?_

Maris screamed and clutched her swollen stomach. Both Marge and Cecil were right beside her, attempting to hold her hands. Though it was tougher for Marge. Her stomach was almost as swollen. The nurse was helping guide . . . _him_.

"C'mon. You can do it, goddamit!"

They had been in the hospital for a good seven _agonizing_ hours now. It was four sixteen in the morning now. Exactly.

With a final shriek, a tiny, helpless wail came from the nurse's hands. Maris finally relaxed, her eyes on their son. The three best friends laughed in relief. The baby was silent after that first wail, and looked at his mother. He smiled at her.

After the necessities, He was handed back to Cecil in a little blue bundle. He grinned at his newborn son. He was a father. _A father_. " . . . What name did we decide on again?"

"I don't know. Nothing can match him, though." The baby had curled brown hair, just like his mother's. Nothing was really wrong with him, as they found out. He was born a healthy baby.

Both parents were lying down for the first time in eight hours.

Marge was sitting on the end of the bed, gazing at them. "How about Neil?"

"Neil . . ." Maris looked down at the baby. She grinned and looked up. "Neil!"

"Neil Terwilliger. Welcome to our family."

They shared a moment of harmony. Three nurses were staring at them, sniffling and passing tissues. And, as if just to mock the moment, Marge cried out and clutched her belly.

_Her…swollen belly. Nine months. Swelled belly._

Homer was called immediately, and shoved Cecil aside when he saw his deathly pale wife. Bart was at home with the neighbors.

They stayed in the hospital for yet another seven hours. The same process ensued, only this time the Terwilligers weren't allowed in the room. Neil had fallen back asleep, so he was taken back to the nursery.

Finally—_finally _a nurse holding a little girl came out. Neither Terwilliger could see what her face looked like. They were both allowed back in, though Homer greeted Cecil with a growl.

After a half hour, the nurse came back. The girl had hair much like a pineapple's, but Cecil had to admit she was adorable. Pick gloves were placed on her hands so she wouldn't scratch herself. She was asleep when they handed her back to the parents.

"Lisa. Your name is Lisa." Marge whispered, "And I'm your mommy." Everyone was touched at the harmony. Then they all looked around the room, expecting something to ruin it. Then they all looked back down.

They all had to stay in the hospital for another day and night, and were released the following morning. Each family was some-what closer now. Homer still hated Cecil, but otherwise the original three had something that wasn't there before.

* * *

**Neil and Lisa share the same birthday! Sorry for anything that may have grossed you out. And I know that's not how Marge had Lisa, but bear with me please. I didn't watch that episode until Cecil was thirty.**

**Also, with _The Baby_: I've lost the word document I've kept it on. Which SUCKS, because I was almost finished with that one. Just lemme look around for it, and if I don't find it I can re-write a better version.**


	7. 26

Age: 26

"Don't talk to strangers." –Every adult I know, "Seriously. Don't."

* * *

"Don't run too far, dear!" Maris called.

"I won't, mom!" Neil called over his shoulder. He started to run down the beach, the sand a white road behind him.

Cecil nudged his wife, "he'll be fine. Nobody in their right mind will be out here in this time of the season."

It was late November, and yet they were all in their bathing suits on the beach. Five years ago, Cecil had proposed to Maris. She had flowing, dark chocolate hair that went down to her waist, and usually kept it back with a black head band.

Four years ago yesterday, they had Neil. He had his grandmother's hair (Cecil refused to acknowledge Bob), only the same color of Maris's hair. He was a perky young boy, and had much potential (he had already memorized quite a few Shakespeare plays), already able to use scientific words, unlike most of the children in Springfield.

They had not yet moved out of the dreary town, not enough money. But there _had_ been just enough to buy a three-story beach house, the one Maris used to gaze upon and wish she lived in there instead of with her parents.

The only way she had been able to escape from them was to cut them out of her life for good. Though it hadn't been easy, she had changed all phone numbers, made sure _not_ to tell them she had moved in with Cecil, hadn't told them about the wedding _period_, and hid whenever she saw them in a store.

So really, she wanted them dead.

Bob hadn't quit the sideshow business. That is all Cecil would say about him when Neil asked. He told the child about his old dreams, wanting to be a clown, but said that they were long gone. Replaced by chief hydro dynamical and hydrological engineer. It was all he wanted nowadays, and the pay was incredible.

Back to the beach.

Neil was now running back, screaming. Somebody was chasing him.

"_Neil!_"

"_Mom! Dad!"_

He ran into his fathers' legs before the figure stopped just short of twenty feet away. He had an under shirt and jeans thrown on, and brown hair that hung in his eyes. The man's eyes were hard and cold, staring.

"Get off of our property before we call the cops!" Maris yelled.

"If I had meant any harm, you'd be dead. The kid woulda' been first to go," he smiled as if nothing were wrong, causing Neil to cower behind his father. "Besides, the police here ain't worth what you can _hack_. And I happen to have a gun on me." He spoke with a country accent, a deep voice that sounded like he literally had a frog in the throat.

Cecil pushed Maris behind him. "So what do you want?"

"Directions. How do I get to the prison?"

"You go to town. The prison is hovering just above the church, which is rather easy to spot. If I don't ask what you need at the prison, then you don't interfere with my family. Deal?"

"Heh. Deal. Name's Tom, by the way. Tom Vinne. Maybe we'll meet again, sometime." He walked past them. They backed away slowly.

"Get inside. _Now_," they did as Cecil ordered. He picked Neil up, still watching Tom getting smaller and smaller in the distance.

Once inside, they locked the windows and all doors. Most importantly: they hid the kitchen knives.

"Dad, who was he?"

"I'm watching the news right now. There was a breakout at the jail. Six men escaped, one man broke them all out. Guess who?"

He and Maris exchanged glances. They were both thinking about what he said, "_If I had meant any harm I woulda killed you already. The kid woulda been first to go."_

"Neil, pack like we're going on a trip."

"OK," he didn't even hesitate. "Where are we going?"

"The Simpsons' home. We're going to spend the night there. If we leave immediately, Tom won't be able to follow us. He'll be too busy getting everybody settled. But then . . .*shudder* hurry!"

They turned the security alarm on, and left.

* * *

**Tom's going to be in a couple of other stories, so I figured I'd whip this up. It's quick and short, but the message is clear. Tom's a_ bad_ _guy_. **

** I'm still missing those few chapters from his teen years, one of which is EXTREMLY important. It's the fallout between Bob and Cecil, and is used in pretty much every single one of my stories except for two. Alright, done here.**

**You've already read, so can you pretty pretty please take ten seconds of your lives to leave a review? All reviews are returned and accepted, though sometimes I may be slow on that. Thanks for reading all this way!**


	8. 29 Part 1

Age 29

"it is the sort of suffering that cannot be done justice with words. I can only say this—that I suspect it is an aguish from which one never recovers. A walking death." –Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter

* * *

Tom saw the little brat and old maid leave the house. He watched them until they were the size of his thumb in the distance. He grinned, a nasty snarl to anyone who saw. Picking up the bag, he ran to the front door, unlocked it, and immediately turned for the security. Seeing that it was already disabled, Tom assumed they weren't going to be gone for very long.

He beckoned Bull and Thor to follow his lead. Tom held the front door open while the two henchmen quickly crossed the gap between the small coverage of trees and house.

They started pouring the gasoline over the floors and furniture, making sure there was some in every room. "Nice, big house. Too bad it has to go."

They were all upstairs now, in one of the two dens. Tom grimaced as he realized the last witness wasn't with the other two. Couldn't he wait? Or-

The front door slammed shut. A woman's voice wavered up from the kitchen. "Did the fresh air help you any?"

"Not very." A young boy replied.

Thor and Bull looked at Tom questionly and held up matches. He nodded, went across the room to a doused couch, and lit it.

The flames spread immediately from that to the next couch, to the floor, to the long carpet. The three leaped out the second story window, flailing to the ground. Tom and Bull were smart enough to aim their bodies at several bushes, but Thor landed on his feet.

They were crushed.

Tom and Bull helped him up, and made a run for it just as the fire hit the attic.

* * *

Cecil nearly floored the car back to the beach house. It had taken almost an hour just to get the medicine, but trafic had post-phoned it another thirty minutes. They had just come back from their trip to Five Corners, and had not yet un-packed. Somehow, Neil had picked up this virus from the ride back. As soon as they arrived, Cecil dropped both Maris and Neil off, and then pratically floored it to town. Finally, _finally_, he was on the road to their beach house.

As he arrived, a crackling sound came from behind the trees that hid the house from all other eyes.

He got out of the car, and walked up ahead. As he came closer, the sound got louder. He began to run towards the house now, seeing bits and pieces of orange and red lights dancing back and forth along the tips of the lark oaks.

Finally, he saw it. The house was in flames, the heat penitrating off of it like a skunk's perfume. There were three figures by the side, dragging a body.

_Dear lord no . . . !_

Almost close enough to touch was Tom and his henchmen. Cecil looked back and forth between the fire and criminals, not sure which to take down.

Finally, with one last glare to Tom, he ran for the house. They continued on their way, smirking. Cecil kicked down the front door, only to be confronted by masculine waves of heat. He dared not go any farther than a few feet into the washing room.

"_Maris! Neil!" _Cecil yelled into his cupped hands. But the roar of the fire made it impossible to hear anything. The flames licked at his body, threatening to burn his flesh.

He sucked it up and went deeper into the maze of fire. He turned to go into the kitchen, and saw Maris holding the 6-year-old Neil beside her. They were hunkered down, trapped by the caved in ceiling in the middle of the floor.

She yelled over the roar, "_They set it on fire! We saw them! Tom and his men_!"

"_I know! I was just close enough to touch them!" _

"_Well why the hell didn't you get them? One of them was wounded!_"

"_I didn't know if they had hurt you before leaving!_"

"Daddy?" Neil tried calling out, but his voice was already taken by the cold.

"_Hold on. I think I see a way to get you out!"_

He took a step forward. A loud crack came from above, and a large wooden beam that was still on fire fell in front of him. They had no escape. And he was trapped behind by a stinking plank of wood.

Cecil looked around for another opening. Another huge crack, this time from the kitchen. He looked up, and so did Maris and Neil.

"_Daddy!"_

"_Cecil!"_

"_NOOO!" T_hey all screamed at the same time as the beam came loose from right above them, and fell. A huge flare exploded from the room, and Cecil had to sheild his eyes.

When he looked back, Maris's arm was the only thing visible from under the flaming wreck, but even that burnt quickly. He stood in shock for a moment, and almost jumped into the flames to be where they are now.

"_AUGH!_"

A man came up behind him, a firefighter, and dragged him out. Once outside, a huge croud had gathered on the driveway, all staring at the flaming wreckage. The old oak trees were skeletans now, so everybody could see the flaming wreckage clearly.

When they came out, Cecil found himself the center of attention. News reporters crowded around, and asked questions that he couldn't understand. Nothing was reality; Cecil had retreated into the darkest corners of his mind.

It wasn't until Marge had come in when he finally snapped out of it. "Cecil? Are you OK?"

Still a little dazed, he answered, "Huh?"

"What happened?"

Everything came back in a single click. "_NO! Maris and Neil!_" he sat up, but was gently pushed back down.

"Honey, they didn't make it. Or they did and collasped in the fi-"

"No! I was so close! If that damn beam hadn't- hadn't . . . Oh," he fell against the bed, sobbing. Marge went up to the bed and hugged him. She started saying soothing words, but that failed after she began to cry softly as well.

Finally, after they got it together, Cecil began to tell Marge everything. "...and it's all my fault!"

"No it's not. He needed medicine, and if Maris had gone then you would have left her and if you did that _then I would kill you!_" she took several deep breaths, and said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. But it's not your fault. It's Tom's."

"Everything that I love somehow ends up dying!"

"That's not true! We've known each other since I can remember, and so far as I know my life is amazing! Homer has a great job, I have two incredible children, and a lovely house that you can stay in."

"What?" he looked up in shock. "I thought that Homer hated me!"

"He does, but I can talk him into most anything these days."

"_Ha_!" He sniffed. "These days. As I can remember, you've been able to talk anyone into anything!"

"That's the truth and you better know it!"

They both looked at each other and started laughing. The last time they'd ever do it together.

* * *

On the day of the funeral, Marge brought her family, despite their protests. Bart, being the troublemaker, said out loud, "you look like Sideshow Bob!"

Cecil's face turned red. "Must you bring up _that_ at my family's funeral? We prefer not to talk to each other, thank you very much."

"Uh, Bart, why don't you go bother your father?"

"Depends..."

"_This is a funeral_!" she whisper-yelled in the angry mother tone. "He's over there, by the punch bowl."

"Yes ma'am." He went to where Homer was, and stood quietly.

"Well you're a good mother," Cecil said.

"She's a smart one," Lisa spoke up.

"Has been ever since we can remember."

"We?"

"Cecil, Maris and I have known each other since we were kids."

"Then why haven't I met them before?"

"You have, as a baby. We haven't let you kids see them because...Bart and Neil didn't get along very well..." She gazed at Homer, who was buisy stuffing his face with the foods the church had provided. When he caught her gaze, he glared at Cecil.

"Then why didn't you bring me to see them?" Lisa tugged on Marge's dress.

"I'll tell you in the car. As for now, take your seat, the procession's starting."

* * *

**Ah? Part two coming up soon. ****Two most important chapters of this fic, and are the backbones of all of my other stories. I accept and return reviews/constructive criticisms. Especially constructive criticisms. This chapter was easy to re-write, but part two isn't. We'll need to wait for that one . . . **


	9. 29 Part 2

"Evil isn't born. It's made." –Once Upon A Time

"Listen to yourself, for god's sake!"

"He's NOT staying here!"

"Actually, if I don't, then I'd be forced to-"

"Oh, go live with Flanders!"

"HOMER! He's staying with us!"

"Give me one damn good reason!"

"He's our family friend that _**I**_ have known since _**I**_ was a child and the insurance company hasn't even given him enough money to rent out an _apartment_!"

"Only five hundred dollars."

"STAY OUTTA THIS!" Both husband and wife yelled at him.

Then, nicer, "Cecil, please go entertain the kids. I don't want them to think we're fighting-fighting."

"Alright." He knew this argument was a lost cause. Homer would win this one.

Marge had only so much power over him. Her extension was only over everything that didn't involve the Terwilligers. Even asking the guy if she could bring the kids earned a two-hour argument, of which she generally lost.

Cecil trudged into the living room, where Bart and Lisa were watching TV. "Well, your parents-"

"Shhh." Both children shushed him. He turned to the screen. And saw the second last thing he even _wanted_ to see.

Cecil was staring into the face of the first and third most-hated people he had even had the misfortune of meeting.

Although, now seeing what Krusty was doing to him . . .

"-But if you do _this_ to the burglar," Bob was on the ground, trying to drag himself off-stage. He was covered in bruises, and had a bloody nose. Krusty picked up a mallet and whammed it on his outstretched arm, causing Bob to cry out in pain, "You'd have broken his shoulder bone completely!"

The audience laughed, including the three viewers in front of the TV. It really wasn't funny to Cecil, but it was nice to see his brother in pain.

Homer and Marge came into the room. Homer stayed in the doorway, and Marge went up to Cecil with a grim look.

"Sweetie, I'm so sorry. We can't reach an agreement. And, well-"

"I know. I heard you two." He got up to leave.

"Hey," she grabbed his shoulder, "we'll sort things out tomorrow. I promise."

He looked her dead in the eye. She wasn't lying. He attempted to smile, but could tell it was tired. And then, in complete silence, he turned and left.

As soon as he walked out the front door, Cecil ran behind the house before any of the neighbors could see him. He sat in-between two rose bushes for what seemed like twenty minutes, not sure if what he felt were oncoming tears or nausea. Probably nausea. Finally, when the feeling passed, he heard voices.

"I don't want you anywhere near him!"

"Listen to yourself, Homer! The insurance company only gave him a few hundred dollars! He needs us now than ever!"

Silence.

_She won't give up, will she? _Cecil felt honored that she cared that much for him. It infuriated him that Homer wouldn't take it. That he hated his wife's best friend and wouldn't even let her help him.

When he spoke again, Homer sounded soothing, like he was wooing her. "You know baby," Cecil had feared this. The one thing Homer knew how to do was woo his wife into his bidding, "we don't need him."

Marge groaned with pleasure.

_No! Dear god, no! _

"We barely pass by as it is."

"I suppose we do . . ." she sounded dream-like. He was doing something that got her attention.

"We don't need him. No."

"No . . ."

"No. We don't even have a bed for him to sleep on."

"What about the couch?" She sounded like she finally snapped awake.

"My dad needs that.

_Still wooing her_

-and my dad's already so close to dying . . ."

"But he's in a . . . a, um, what—what was that again?"

_She tried. At least she tried._ Cecil could feel tears welling up for the first time since the scars.

"Don't contact Cecil tomorrow."

"I won't . . . I _won't_!" The bed springs popped and racketed as they did it.

Cecil plucked a rose from its stem. Tears were trickling down his cheeks now, but all he felt inside was emptiness.

He recalled suggesting that class to her now. The one she met Homer in. It _was_ technically his fault.

He could hear Homer now over the bed springs, "I'll protect you, Marge. And guide you through the rest of eternity."

Cecil let this sink in. She chose that sad, blubbering oaf over her oldest (and living) best friend. Why, they had been together since fourth grade! And all that she had was Maris! Maris and her sisters!

*"I gave you my music . . . let your dreams take wing.

"And how you've repaid me: denied and betrayed me," his voice broke on betrayed.

"H-he was bound to love you, when he first saw your—your face. Marge… Marge . . ." Everything finally caught up to him, from the fire to this. He clutched the rose protectively, shoulders shaking.

He heard the bedsprings stop, and Marge say, "you really promise me your unending love? One love? One lifetime?" Cecil's hands began to shake, and felt the roses' thorns sinking into his skin. He didn't care. He imagined it to be a neck. Whose, it didn't matter. The rose petals fell off, one by one while they spoke.

"Say the word, and I will follow you. Marge: share each day with me, each night, each morning," Both sung the last line.

It was too much. Just . . . too much.

He ran out of the back yard into the street and yelled/sang into the shadows of the night: "You will curse the day you did not do all that this phantom asked of you!"

He ran off into those shadows, leaving behind his old life. Leaving behind those childhood memories, though Maris kept an old photo album in the car. Leaving behind what used to fill the giant whole in his chest.

_You let him take you, Marge. You let him. And in doing so, you have made an enemy out of Cecil Terwilliger. _

* * *

**And that was the big chapter. It's the one scene that I use in all of my stories. **

**Truth be told, this was a dream. It was one of those "I can't interact with the characters, but I know what's going on and can hear their thoughts" kind of dreams. And I woke up bawling. **

***- Guess where that song is from. If you know, you'd cry too.**


	10. 32 Part 1

**Takes place during "Brother From Another Series," all rights go to Matt Groening, blah blah blah. Part one:**

* * *

"And back he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky with the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high..." - Loreena Mckennitt's _The Highwayman_

It wasn't fair, life. I learned that the hard way. I had no one to blame but myself and Tom. Him for being there, me for hesitating. You see, if I hadn't hesitated, then they would still be alive. My family.

After that one night, I had nowhere else to go. The bank took everything I owned, and insurance covered enough for a tank of gas.

About no more.

I lived in my car in the parking lot of the Kwiki-Mart, making excellent friends with the store clerk there. I'd at least like to think so.

Maybe we were, possibly we weren't.

I don't live in my car any longer, thank God himself for everything that he has done for and to me (sarcasm). I now have a nice apartment near the dam, having finally been promoted to Chief Hydro Dynamical and Hydrological Engineer (for some reason, I always capitalized the title in my mind). The old chief made the mistake of "coming to a yokel's rescue on the cliff."

You can use the quotation marks as you like. It was just what was said in next day's newspaper.

We had his funeral, and I was on top. Still, lonely. They never caught Vinne, and good thing too because _that bastard is mine_.

Ahem. Excuse me.

Anyway, it was a few weeks into it that I one day got the call. It was from the reverend at the church, telling me about Bob.

Yes, I had heard about my older brother's big fall. Er, _falls_. That last attempt on the entire town was shaky. I also happened to notice he had quite the vendetta against Bart Simpson. Hm. Our families don't seem to get along, do we?

Anyway, I went. It was about time for forgiveness after ten full years, wasn't it (also, it was bound to happen sooner or later—might as well get it over with sooner)? We even shared a special moment there. Now, when we got outside, the entire town was there, including the Simpsons.

I met Marge's eyes. She recognized me, I could tell from the way her eyes shifted and had that guilty look. She even backed up a step, then seemed to grow angry and held her sign up higher, trying to ban my brother's release. I gave her the coldest stare I had, and went to pull up the car while Bob made some speech up about how being an American he deserves to be treated like one.

Eh. I stopped listening. Started thinking about the fire again. Marge looked pretty guilty, but not guilty enough. Guilty enough is when you take in your best friend when his house burns down.

I pulled up in the car as they finished, plastering a fake smile on. "It is good to see you again after ten full years."

"Indeed."

"Much has changed."

"Yes, I know."

"Yes, it—oh? You do?" I thought, just for a second, that maybe—_maybe_ . . .

"Yes. I have finally gotten over myself, Cecil. I no longer hold anything towards the people who have made my life miserable. I-I am a new man. And I want to start by apologizing to you, for every single last—"

"Water under the bridge, Bob." I stated flatly.

Silence for the next two minutes as we passed a sign that stated, "SPRINGFIELD—PROUD HOME OF SIDESHOW BOB."

After we passed, Bob asked, "Say, you were getting married, weren't you?"

My eyes widened, and I tensed, knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. "Uhyehah . . ."

He patted my shoulder. "You're a lucky man, Cecil," He paused. "I've been thinking about settling down. Maybe having a child of my own."

"Uh," I shifted.

He slapped me on the shoulder. "You _dog!_"

"Uh. Er. Bob . . ."

"I apologize immensely for missing the wedding and all, I would have gone if I had known."

"About that . . ."

"What are their names? Do I have a nephew or a niece? Or both?" He got excited, "Or two nephews? Or two nieces? Or two of each?"

"Bob!" We pulled into the driveway.

"Tell me!" He turned to me.

"They're all dead!" I yelled.

"W-what?"

I put my head on my hands on the wheel. "You would have had a nephew, Neil, and a sister in law, Maris. Three years now."

He went forward with caution. "Three years since what?"

"Since their murder," I raised my head, looking into space. "Bastard's still out there. Vinne, Tom Vinne. Started a fire, I wasn't there in time."

"O-oh _god_, Cecil."

Symphony. Last thing I wanted right now. I got out of the car, marching to the front door.

"Is there anythi—" He caught up to me.

I faced him, staring cold in the eye. "We were separated by a beam. A single, worthless, flaming beam. Another fell. I would have found another way to get to them if it hadn't fallen on top of them."

In a way, I was being cruel not only to him, but to me. This was a rather painful memory to bring up, even after three years.

"Why didn't you tell me? Or anybody?"

I sighed, unlocking the door. "Water under the bridge, Robert. You bring it up again I kill you. Literally. I have plenty of dynamite."

Silence from him, for once. We entered my living room. "Now make yourself at home!" I said. "Perhaps a glass of Bordeaux? I have the '82 Chateau Latour and a rather indifferent Rausan-Segle," I offered the bottles.

"I've been in prison, Cecil. I'll be happy so long as it doesn't taste like orange drink fermented under a radiator."

"That would be the Latour then." I needed it.

We settled down for dinner.

He brought up the job I had that he would be working on "with" me. Well, we'd need to correct that, wouldn't we? "_For_ me, Bob. _For_ me. I am Springfield's Chief Hydrological and Hydro Dynamical Engineer." I announced proudly and gladly, raising my glass of wine and smiling.

He scoffed, much to my surprise (once again, sarcasm). "Hydrological _and_ hydrodynamical? Talk about running the gamut." He rolled his eyes.

"Snicker all you like, _Bob_," I spat back.

"Hm. Thank you, I believe I shall." Took a triumph sip.

Hmph. Tell your brother your family died in a fire and he attacks your job and life. Well TWO could play at that game!

"But you'll find one gets more respect as a humble civil servant than as a homicidal maniac. Or a clown's sidekick." I shifted my eyes.

It had to be brought up.

"A-HA!" He jumped up and pointed a finger at me, "I knew it! You're still angry that Krusty picked me instead of you."

Well, I did ask for it. Despite what Maris may have told me, despite what I told _myself_, deep down there was a spark of fire when he said those words. It started as a spark, and grew to a much larger scale in a matter of one second. Finally, everything hit me. _Everything_.

Three damn years it took. I huffed, crossing my arms. "I can't imagine what you mean."

We went on to bicker about it, him finally crossing the line when he said, "The point is, you obviously still blame me for what happened at your audition."

I turned around and gave the most pitiful look as the flashback hit me. But it wasn't just that, no. He forgot as well as the rest of them.

The Fire, I mean. I tell him this, he stomps all over me. I even showed him a picture—er, he showed himself a picture of Maris and Neil while I was cooking dinner.

But now? Dear god, I never felt this feeling before. It must have been what Vinne felt like as he set my home to flames, what Robert felt like when he tried to kill Bart Simpson for the first time. It's this sort of rage that builds up deep inside you, finally breaking when pushed too hard.

And I have been pushed very, _very_ hard. Too late for sorry, brother. Revenge is a dish best served in flames.

* * *

**Thank kendramccormick for reminding me about this. Found inspiration again!**


	11. 32 Part 2

**Alright, so I was really bored the other night, and started this. Then I couldn't remember the lines in the episode, and I got pretty cranky and started the third chapter. Then I watched the episode again, and all was good. : ) Everything's complicated . . . .**

* * *

"-Yet in his eyes all the sadness of the world, those pleading eyes that both threaten and adore…" – _Phantom of the Opera, Why Have You Brought Me Here?_

"Now, let's stop bickering and get out of here! This dam could collapse at any minute!"

I chuckled, over hearing Bob. I opened the door, "One minute past sunrise, to be precise!" I held up the gun, waving my eyes over the children.

My, have they grown.

"Cecil?"

Oh, don't look so surprised. "Once I blow up the dam, there will be no evidence of missing concrete, and I'll walk away with fifteen million."

Lisa took a step forward. "But everyone will know you did this!"

"Perhaps . . ." I held up the gun, looking at Bob. "Or maybe they will blame the master criminal. You know, the one who's been working at the dam and holds a _grudge_ against Springfield?"

"Now, I know Cousin Merl has had his trouble with the revenues lately, but I hardly think he's a master crim—oh. You're referring to _me_."

I smirked, pride controlling my actions. "Yes. I'm framing you and I'm doing a really excellent job, too." Pretty well for my first time, too.

"Wait a minute—this is all because I got to be Krusty's sidekick, isn't it?"

I shrugged. "Off the record, yes. But officially, I did it for the money." (_this is for you, Maris) "_Speaking of which, hand it over." I cocked the gun to Bart, taking the suitcase.

I backed out slowly but swiftly, shutting the door behind me. "Ta!" I then swore to myself and opened the door again, "By the way, I'm blowing up the dam with you inside."

"Well, _obviously_."

Had to make sure. I shut the door again, barely making out Bart running towards the door in the smallest crack. A second later, I heard the door rattling.

I picked up the rest of the dynamite, stuffed a picture of Maris, Neil and I in my back pocket, and got to the top of the dam. I started setting up, truly feeling on top of the world . . .

"_I'm on the, the top of the world, looking down on creation, for world domination, I can fly, da-do-do-do."_

Finally, I dragged the plunger to a safe spot away from the dam. "Plunger? Check. Hard hat? Check. Fifteen million dollars and a gun? Check-mate!" I waved my hand. "Good bye, _Bob!_" I spat out.

And, just as I lowered the lever, I heard a scream. "NO-O-O-O-O!" the person landed on top of my shoulders, covering my eyes. "Guess who?"

I almost smiled, it sounded just like her. When she inhaled helium (ONCE, on a dare from Marge when we went to the school fair and had access to the balloon stand), but it was the way the person said it. "Maris?"

He took off my hard hat and started beating me with it. I blindly tried to find something to knock the bastard off with, and, feeling something, started trying to hit him with that.

I hated the fact that what I grabbed was the suitcase full of money.

It opened, and fell off the cliff. "O-O-O-O-O-OH shoot." I reached out my hand, sighing. Bart started up again, and we continued fighting.

Finally, he did IT. He PULLED the HAIR. I growled, finally grabbing the little punk. "_At last I will do what Bob never could! KILL Bart Simpson!_"

"By throwing me off a dam? Isn't that a little crude for a genius like you?"

I held him out in front of me, thinking. "Ooh, I suppose it is . . ." I shrugged, "Eh. If anyone asks, I'll lie." With that, I threw him off.

I heard Lisa scream (as well as he, obviously), and saw Bob jump off the dam, holding the wire—

Wait. Wire? MY DYNAMITE!

It slipped past my ankle, making me fall and gasp. I ran back to the dam as the two fell, finally stopping and bouncing a little. I held the plunger once again as Bob turned to look up. "Cecil . . ."

His eyes pleaded with me, as did the voice.

No mercy for me, no mercy for him. I had to wear my vest, even in the summertime, just to hide that giant **B** on my arm. I felt my entire body run cold. "You might hear a slight ringing in your ears. Fortunately," I smiled and held up the lever, "you'll be nowhere near them."

They said something to each other, but I didn't make it out. Time seemed to freeze as I pushed down the plunger. And then, just my luck, Bob cut the wire.

I gasped again, watching them fall. Oh well. Even if I couldn't blow up the dam, I would at least watch the demise of these two. And deal with Lisa in—

"Cecil?"

I looked up at the girl I once knew, and then back down at the sound of something hitting a hollow tube. I poorly withheld laughter; Bob had fallen crotch-first on a pipe.

I turned back to Lisa, sneering. "Even if _they_ make it out alive," I grabbed her wrist, "_you won't._"

She just gave me this pitiful gaze. "_I_ know who you are."

"I'd hope so. I'm going to lead you to your demise, so."

"Well yes, I know you from _this_. I meant from somewhere else. I can remember you with a woman, and a little boy? He was about my age, three or four? They smelled like peaches, we were on a beach?"

I stared at her and let go, kneeling down to her level. "Y-you do?!" I was in shock for a moment, and checked my back pocket. The picture was still there, she couldn't have seen it.

"There's always a choice, Cecil. Between good and evil, there's always a choice. Don't go down the wrong road-"

"Think about why I'm doing this. Aside from Krusty's audition, think about _why_—"

I felt a sharp, throbbing pain in my head, and the world went black. Along with a painful migraine.

_Stalling . . ._

* * *

I awoke, and the police were there. The sun was up, so I hadn't been out cold for very long. An officer came up to me with hand cuffs. I stood up sighing, letting him.

Bob, as I now noticed, was standing right in front of me with his arms crossed. He sighed. "You have brought this family to shame, Cecil."

Oh, yeah freakin' RIGHT. It was ME who brought our family to shame.

"Oh, I don't relish having to write the Christmas letter this year."

I sniffed. I'd need an aspirin for the migraine. "Nor I to read it. You know Bob, all this time I thought you were a bungler, but destroying the city is far tougher than I thought."

_Because of a little girl. _

But it wasn't so bad. Bob was arrested as well, simply because the chief thought he had something to do with it all, despite the children sticking up for him.

I, of course, said nothing.

We got into the car, Bob yelling he was innocent. I decided to enlighten the mood . . .

"Tell them they'll live to regret it."

. . . for me. He actually did it, sticking his head out the window and yelling, "_You'll live to regret this!_" He realized what I did there, and accused, "Oh, great. Now I look crazy!"

I just smirked. At least we were both getting punished. My family photo was still in my back pocket, as I had a flashback of Maris at our Drama Club play of _The Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee_, when she was singing the _I Love You Song_.

Someone else (I'm pretty certain she was Evelyn Peters) and I were her parents, all three of us (and I will admit) living the part. Marge played as one of the judges, also watching Maris.

I recalled her angelic voice singing, "_I lo-o-o-ove you-o-o-o-o!"_ That voice that reached beyond the heavens. That voice which was now _in_ the heavens.

I thought about Lisa's final words to me. If I continued heading down this road, I would never join my family again in eternity. I sighed, thinking it through.

Bob interrupted my thoughts, "Didn't think you were going to be caught, did you?"

"Hm? Oh. No. I really wanted you to die today."

"Oh, well then. That changes everything. Love you too, little brother."

"I hope I got my feeling across, trying to kill you twice and all."

"Yes, I believe I got a clear message."

"Good then, wasn't too sure about that. Also, nice stalling decoy. Really touching to know that you're willing to use my murdered family against me."

"Who?"

I sighed. "No one important."

Biggest lie of my life.

* * *

**And part 3 coming soon.**


	12. 32 Part 3

"I'll top the bill/ I'll earn the kill/ I have to find the will to carry on with the, on with the, on with the show." – _Moulin Rouge, On With the Show_

* * *

"So. When are we getting the menus?"

Bob just gave me a look. I sighed after a few seconds, and sat down on the bottom bunk. "Is there _anything_ to do in here?"

"Did you bring a book?"

"Not that I believe, no."

"Then no."

I twiddled my thumbs, eventually falling asleep.

"_YA!_" And I awakened to frigid ice water thrown in my face. "Ugh!" I wiped my eyes, the splash having been immediately followed by laughter.

There was Bob, first of all, who was buckled down with laughter. He of course was holding the bucket. Then a man with a snake tattoo on his arm, who was holding his arm out to me. Chuckling.

I sneered and denied it, getting up on my own.

A whole crowd. Including several prison guards. They stopped laughing as a guard spoke up. "ALRIGHT EVERYBODY! COURTYARD!"

They all grumbled, going into the hallway. Bob and the snake tattoo fellow walked ahead of me; I followed everybody else, shivering. I was led into an open area—yes, the courtyard.

I looked around. There were weights in one section, the section my ex-compadres were heading to. There was a boxing section just opposite of that area.

I decided to take up boxing.

There were two others on either side of me. One looked rather bored, simply tapping the upper-body half of a dummy's face. The other was into the game: he was violently hitting the training bag, even grunting with each thrust. I couldn't see his face, even when the bag went flying across the courtyard.

I chuckled, grabbing and tossing a bag to him. "Nice arm. What are you in fo—" I stopped as he turned to me.

I knew that he had been incarcerated. I knew that he had been trialed for his life. But I had not known that he got to keep that life. You see, the man that turned to me now—and of course it was him, with my luck these days—was Tom Vinne.

The same man who threatened the life of my son. Who helped six murderers escape from prison, going on a killing spree for about a week before getting caught. Who was supposed to be sentenced to death. _Who killed my family_.

He recognized me as well, and smiled. Not the most friendly smile I've ever seen. "Well well well. Ain't it just our luck?" Still had the deep, heavy country accent.

I looked around. No guards were watching us.

"See that you escaped the fire nice an' fine. We had ta' leave Thor behind, he was holding us back from 'scaping."

I felt the hatred creep into my eyes. The coldest, sharpest feeling since the anguish after the fire.

"Poor bastard went down crying. Most pitiful sight a man's gotta see, another man dyin' in tears. I never got to see your wife an' son go down. But I bet you did."

I scanned the yard again. Bob was watching me; he saw the story behind my eyes; that much nobody could ignore from Mr. Cellophane. I met his gaze for a moment before going back to this ruthless cold-blooded son of a—

"She was real pretty too, your wife. What was her name? Marie? Maris?"

Alright. Calm down. Don't—the officers were going to lunch. All of them. We were unsupervised.

"I almost wanted to keep her for myself, she was that pretty. Don't hold anything against me, friend. She would've broken your heart sooner or later, with alla' the other men in the—"

I punched him in that callous face, that rage radiating off of me so fast I couldn't stop beating him, even when he hit back. I drew back my teeth as an animal would, fighting for the dignity of my family.

A crowd soon grew, Bob and Snake-Tattoo being in the front row. Bob especially was gaping.

Finally, he had me pinned to the ground. "Well, you ain't much of a sissy as I imagined you were. Heh, shoulda' known when you ran into that house for them. It was a lost cause! Suicide!"

"Well," I used a move—ironically enough, learned from my "buffoon lessons"—to switch our positions, "maybe you should have waited for me to get in there before setting it aflame."

Questions from the crowd.

"What?" Bob took several steps into the ring.

Both Vinne and I scoffed.

"I couldn't wait for you to get home; we were already in the house when your family came in. Call it a moment of weakness—I panicked and set your house on fire." He shrugged beneath me. "No biggie."

"**NO **_**BIGGIE?!**_" I saw only red now, feeling only the rage pulsing through my entire being, "**YOU MURDERERED MY WIFE AND SON IN COLD BLOOD!"**

"**I DID NOTHING BUT SET THE MATCH!"**

I drew my fist up, preparing to . . . *ahem* . . . be—beat him to death. Not my proudest moment, but _god knows!_ _How_ I wanted to do it! He had it coming, didn't he? He killed my family in cold blood! That henchman who held him back! Probably many others, who all want vengeance on this heinous devil for how-many known _dead!_

And I would have done it, too. If it weren't for Bob and his tattoo friend, I would have murdered somebody in a fit of righteous animosity. One of them dragged me away, kicking and screaming bloody murder to Vinne. Snake knocked me out cold from behind, and that's how I spent my first day in prison.

* * *

I awakened. Bob was in a chair across from my bed, reading. He looked up as I groaned. "Good morning, my homicidal brother. That was physically more than I've _ever_ done in my lifetime."

I groaned again. My head was now truly—literally—killing me. "Did I kill him?"

"No, but he's been put up to trial again. The cameras caught him admitting to starting the fire. They say this time he has absolutely no chance of surviving this one with his life."

"Mmmm. Good."

He stared at me intently. "Did he honestly kill them?"

I sighed, covering my eyes with my arm. "I'm not in the hugging mood today, Bob."

"We have _never_ been that type of family."

I smirked. "True. The most love I ever got out of my childhood was around Maris."

_And Marge._

As if I'd tell him that, though. Nobody needed to know that. However, I proceeded to tell him everything about the fire. I left out the funeral.

By the time I was done, silence filled the room. I now noticed I was in the infirmary. My head was throbbing, though I was too tired to reach a little ways and get the aspirin that was on the table.

"Could you please give me the aspirin?"

He took two out and handed them over. I didn't even take a sip of water, just swallowed them whole.

He returned to the vulture posture. "And I thought I was the evil one in the family."

"I've been playing that role for a while now, in case you haven't noticed."

"Mm. True. But I've been the public one."

"But I've seen more."

"Children laughing at you while a clown abuses you relentlessly on live TV?"

"A flaming beam landing on your loved ones, burning them alive right in front of you while you consider jumping in there after them?"

"Those who commit suicide are damned in the afterlife."

"I'm pretty sure there are worse ways to get damned for life."

"Like attempting to murder your brother and two children by exploding a dam you stole fifteen million dollars off of in building cuts?"

"Touché. Attempting to murder a ten-year-old boy countless times?"

"Technically, three so far. And one on his aunt, several on Krusty. For the love of god, please tell me you aren't a fan anymore."

"No! Not for ten years, no."

"Good," He handed me a book "I highly recommend writing in this. It helps go easy on the therapist."

I smirked again, taking the book. It was a journal; maroon colored. A sharpened pencil was already inside.

Bob got up and left in silence. Good, the medicine hadn't kicked in yet. I then opened it and started writing in here, writing all of my most memorable moments since the dam.

But it has helped. Though they were painful re-living, I now feel comfortable talking about my past. It feels as if a load has been taken off my shoulders, like the world being taken off of Atlas.

I like it. Maybe I'll even continue writing in it. As for now . . . well, I'm getting my first parole hearing today. Er, Bob is. I'm going to ask about mine later.

It has been about three, four months since the dam. Give or take a few days. What can I say? Time takes a while to heal _all_ wounds.

I have not heard anything else about Vinne. I'm assuming that he's dead now; either that or he's been in a separate prison. Probably not, everybody's seen everybody in prisons. We would have heard.

* * *

And now? Now I'm being called up to pay for three months rent. Nobody even LISTED me when I was arrested. See, it's the little things that get you. Well! I'm going to GET noticed . . .

By taking the first step and getting out of my brother's shadow.

* * *

**In case you didn't get that last bit, it was the beginning of "Sideshow Sibling Smack-Down," my favorite Simpsons comic of all time. **

**No matter how cruel life has been to all of us, keep fighting. Find the will to carry on, use these morals I leave at the beginning of every chapter. Cecil is one of my favorite characters, and it has been a privilege to make one of the most forgotten Simpson characters the main star of several of my stories including this. **

***sniff* On with the show. THE END.**


End file.
